


Thunderbirds Are Go – “Bar Flies”

by countessofsnark



Series: TAG Drabbles [7]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Double Drabble, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofsnark/pseuds/countessofsnark





	Thunderbirds Are Go – “Bar Flies”

**Scott**

He nodded and managed an awkward smile as he was ushered into the Starbucks. The barista’s hand on his shoulder gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling, further increasing the post-rescue numbness that he never quite grew used to. Everyone inside the coffee bar was beaming at him now. Kids were staring in awe at the tall, uniformed man who had moments before saved passengers from the dangling remains of their bus after a series of earthquakes destroyed the bridge they were crossing. 

Scott felt himself moving on autopilot, thanking the people who offered him a seat, thanking the soft spoken barista who put down a freshly-brewed, creamy mocha latte (with a bonus layer of whipped cream) in front of him. They even hushed out an eager journalist who was seeking to intrude upon the peaceful scene. 

Right now, all eyes were on him. It was a far cry from his usual Starbucks visits, when he would be all but invisible behind his MacBook, just another caffeine-addicted latte lover. As he sat sipping the hot brew, he began to realize why his dad wanted International Rescue to be successful. There’s something about saving people that can make your entire day. 

 

**Virgil**

Country music and the sound of various sports games mingled with the low hum of chattering. He grabbed the bottle and took a generous swig, savouring the malty flavour and wondering whether he should order another one or move on to non alcoholic liquids. The last thing he wanted was to get drunk and embarrass himself attempting to play the pinball machine. Besides, he was quite determined to continue ignoring the brown haired beauty in the corner, as well as her friends, all of whom were shamelessly undressing him with their eyes. 

By now, Virgil Tracy had developed a sixth sense with regard to seductive female gazes that locked on to him like bears on a beehive full of honey. He loved these all-American bars, almost to the point of admitting to a guilty pleasure. His lumberjack outfit made him blend in but his good looks and quiet masculinity attracted ladies wherever he went. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about jealous boyfriends. Even the biggest macho knew better than to pick a fight with 200 pounds of raw muscle. Virgil nodded at the barkeeper and casually slammed a 100 dollar bill onto the counter.

“Keep the change,” he said.

 

**Alan**

The pile of bones inside the open cardboard box grew alarmingly high, but still Alan Tracy showed no sign of stopping as he worked his way through the biggest bucket the KFC beneath London’s Tower Hill had to offer. 

He didn’t notice Kayo’s bored gaze, or the fingers that tapped the greasy surface of the table. She didn’t understand how the noodle child of the Tracy family managed to wolf down fast food like a starving Hulk and seemingly not gain a pound. She figured his metabolism must be in perpetual overdrive. 

It was hard not to smile at Alan’s hamster face, his blue eyes twinkling with what could only be pure bliss. Maybe it was a teenager thing, or maybe this was just a natural consequence of finding a way to deal with Grandma Tracy’s nonexistent cooking skills. Kayo looked around the basement-turned-into-a-restaurant for the umpteenth time. She liked this particular KFC. It was surprisingly tucked away between the Tower and the Tower Bridge, accessible only by a charming little staircase, a neon sign beckoning hungry souls alike to come and have a bite. 

“How about a chai tea latte?” Alan chirped as they re-emerged from fast food heaven.

 

**Gordon**

Loud shirts and night clubs might not mix, but none of that matters when you’re Gordon Tracy. He’s the life of the party, wherever said party may be taking place. He nodded along to the beat, sipping a dayglo green cocktail at a nightlife hotspot. The ceiling was a migraine-inducing mix of multi-coloured strobes and blacklight. Virtually everyone in the room was wearing white shirts, reflective body paint, or other blacklight sensitive material. Glowsticks adorned wrists or foreheads, highlighting smiles or focused faces. People were having a good time, allowing themselves to be separated from reality by pounding beats, artificial smoke, and the occasional alcohol rich beverage.

Gordon loved to watch his fellow partygoers, rather than mingling among them. However, when someone grabbed his hand and dragged him into the sea of bodies, he decided to go with the flow. 

Maybe he needed this sensory overload of sound and scents and lights to remind him of what the word above the silent realm of underwater was all about. If you were to ask him what he considered to be a wild night out, he’d probably refer to that time he and his brothers played Cards Against Humanity on the beach.

 

**John**

The soothing background noise of human interaction and the well-isolated walls of Haneda’s Starry Café masked the sounds of the airport to which it belonged. It was like a universe within a universe – within the universe itself. EOS had proposed that he check this place out. Geekish curiosity did the rest. 

Now he was sitting in a corner, quietly stirring his space-themed cocktail – another suggestion from EOS, whose digital guidance was transferred to him through a custom made wrist communicator that’s cleverly disguised as a watch.

John looked up at the café’s pride and joy: the planetarium-like projection of an accurate starry sky, not just randomly picked but in tandem with the actual night sky this time of year. He instinctively began to pick out constellations, requiring no guide but his own experience and background knowledge. That’s when he noticed a little boy and his father who were sitting two tables to his right. The boy was excitedly pointing up at the fake constellations, while his father tried to give him a detailed definition of stars. 

John smiled, suddenly remembering those times he took little Alan stargazing out on the highest point of Tracy Island. Ah, those were the days.


End file.
